Pressed Into Service
by happycabbage75
Summary: Sam’s not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong... Really not himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Pressed Into Service**

Summary: Sam's not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong… really not himself.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks for bringing that up. Cause I needed more depression. Really.

_So here we are again… Trying to keep ourselves amused until the new season starts. Off we go…_

Chapter One

* * *

"I still can't believe you made me go on a cave tour," Dean grumbled.

"You could have stayed in the car," Sam replied.

Dean waved his hand at the dark expanse of cave around them. "And miss all of this damp, moldy fun?"

"Think of it as research," Sam suggested.

"This isn't research. This is an allergic reaction waiting to happen." Dean turned back toward the front of the tour group as they all shuffled along through the cramped section of cave. Sam had signed them up for the three-hour tour which had made Dean laugh and groan simultaneously. Unfortunately that was the only tour that passed by the section of the cave they needed to see.

The truth was that caves were on his list of places to avoid. Caves, government buildings, fancy restaurants, and Itawamba County, Mississippi - a long story he would not go into even mentally. Basically anywhere he felt blocked in. He needed to be able to run, or turn and fire, just in case disaster struck or the lady in front of him turned out to be a raving, psychotic serial killer. Her mustache wasn't helping his imagination stay calm.

"Breathe, Dean," Sam said quietly.

Dean tried not to grimace that his discomfort had been that obvious. "It's the cave fungus," he grunted. "It's bothering me."

"We've got to be almost there," Sam said, ignoring the attempted deflection. "We'll check it out and then we can go."

After several more minutes of shuffling behind the small group of tourists, the cave took a sharp turn and opened into a wide, high-ceilinged space. To one side, they could see that part of the wall had caved in and been roped off. Knowing that this was what they were looking for, Sam and Dean quickly worked their way toward that side of the cavern. Dean knelt and reached beneath the ropes to grab one of the rocks.

"Don't touch anything," a female voice ordered.

Dean snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned. He looked up to see the docent who'd been bringing up the rear of the tour group glaring down at him. She was in her late 30s and had her hair pulled back in an overly severe ponytail.

"You were told not to touch anything," the woman instructed. "The cave is a living thing. Human contact can irreparably damage it."

"I'm pretty sure I had a girlfriend like that once," Dean muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" she said stridently. Dean could practically feel Sam frowning in disapproval behind him.

Dean stood and faced the woman, a winning smile firmly in place. "No touching the rocks. Got it." He nearly jumped when a whining crackle sounded loudly, coming from the pocket of his leather jacket.

The tightly-wound woman scowled. "Sir, I believe you were also told to shut off any cell phones or other electronic devices when the tour began."

Dean pulled the EMF meter out of his pocket and watched as the lights continued to dance. "I've been told not to blow my nose in public, too, but sometimes it just happens," he mumbled, worriedly looking at the cave around them. Three people had died in the cave in the past six months and whatever was doing it was still here.

Dean stumbled as something large and heavy bumped him from behind. He turned just in time to see Sam, his face upturned and slack, falling to his knees.

"SAM!"

A ring of worried tourists formed around them as Dean dropped to the ground in front of his brother and caught him before he toppled forward. It took everything Dean had not to check Sam's back for a killing wound. That scene had filled his nightmares for so many nights now that seeing the ghost of it happening again nearly crushed the air from his lungs. It looked the same, but it wasn't the same. He ordered himself to believe it, feeling Sam's sagging form in his arms, having to fight to keep Sam's heavier frame upright. Dean could hear Sam taking short, stuttering breaths, but at least he was breathing.

"Sammy?" Dean pushed him back so that he could see Sam's face in the dim electric light. He was conscious, but barely. "Talk to me, Sam," Dean ordered, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

"Is he all right?" the docent asked.

"I don't know," Dean said sharply. He couldn't see anything out of place around them, but something was obviously affecting Sam. His eyes were open, but oddly vacant which was more frightening than anything. Sam was so… alive. Looking at him and seeing no one home was startling to say the least.

"Ok," the woman said to the overly curious gawkers, "the rest of you need to stay with the group." She pointed toward the rest of the departing tourists. "I'll see to these two. Go on." Very reluctantly, the ring of people surrounding them began to move away.

The EMF meter that Dean had dropped on the floor abruptly fell silent. A second later, Sam suddenly blinked and looked at Dean. Dean kept his hands on Sam's shoulders, though he felt Sam straighten, holding more of his own weight.

"Sammy?"

Sam blinked again, owlishly. "Dean?" He cleared his throat. "Dean, why…" His eyes finally focused. "Wh… why are we on the ground?"

"You tell me," Dean replied, unable to keep his relief from showing. He shoved the EMF meter in a pocket, stood and then helped a still shaky Sam to his feet.

"I… I felt…" Sam turned and looked toward the cave-in, his eyes clouding again.

"Right, let's get you out of here." Dean took Sam by the arm and began to pull him back the way they'd come. "Is there a faster way?" he asked the guide.

"Look, you two stay here, I'll go call for the medics and be right back," she said. "It'll only take a few minutes."

Dean was already shaking his head. "He doesn't need an ambulance," he stated firmly. "His medicine is in the car. I just need to get him back to it as soon as possible. Now is there a faster way out of here?" he repeated.

"The elevator," she said, though she was frowning at his tone.

"There's an elevator?" Dean said in disbelief. They were more than an hour into the tour and deep inside the cave.

"I _told_ you at the beginning of the tour-"

"I think we've established that I wasn't listening," Dean snapped.

The woman took a deep breath. "It's just for situations like this," she explained, more patiently than Dean knew he probably deserved, "in case there's an emergency during the tour. But I think we should wait-"

"No," Dean cut her off. Sam was gazing once again toward the cave-in, half-dazed, and Dean wanted him out of this place _now_. "I just need to get him back to the car."

The woman hesitated again, but finally nodded and gestured for them to follow her. Sam stumbled and Dean instantly pulled one of his brother's arms across his shoulders. "Easy, Sam," he said. "Just try and stay upright, will ya? You weigh more than a pregnant yak."

"Not pregnant," Sam muttered, his head lolling forward as they made their way in the guide's wake.

"Glad to hear it," Dean said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"But I might yak."

"Whoa," Dean said, moving slightly away, though still carefully supporting Sam. "Don't, uh… damage the cave. Human contact and all. I won't like it much either."

Sam nodded hazily and Dean urged him forward again. The guide turned down another section of cave than the way they'd come and almost immediately they were facing a set of silver doors. The guide put a key in the panel beside the door and the elevator opened. Dean hurried Sam inside and sat him down on the bench that ran along the back. Sam slumped down, leaning his head back against the wall and shut his eyes.

The guide stood to one side nervously watching Sam while Dean knelt beside him, not willing to be separated even for the length of an elevator ride. The higher they rose, however, the better Sam appeared. The pallor left his face and his breathing became normal and even. Finally, just as the doors opened, so did his eyes. Dean was beyond relieved to see that they were clear, though he looked exhausted.

"Feeling better?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded and stood. "Yeah. Just… tired. Could use some sleep."

Dean led the way out of the elevator, guiding Sam with a hand at his back. He just needed to get Sam to the motel, give him a little bit to rest and then they were going to have a serious talk about any more spelunking.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Dean opened his eyes, but remained perfectly still on the bed, listening. There was no movement in the motel room and he couldn't sense anyone other than Sam.

_Sam_.

Dean was out of the bed and had the light on in seconds flat. Sam was lying on his back, completely rigid. He took a stuttering breath and Dean knew that was what had awakened him.

"Sammy?" Dean tentatively put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

Sam's eyes opened and he looked directly at Dean. His gaze wasn't hazy or distant as Dean had feared. It was worse.

Sam sat up and Dean stumbled back, his knees hitting his own bed forcing him to sit abruptly.

Sam was watching him. But it wasn't Sam. Whoever was sitting across from him, it wasn't his brother.

Sam's eyes were blue.

* * *

_More soon… And yes, insurance companies have required many of the cave tours to put in elevators in case of emergencies._


	2. Chapter 2

**Pressed Into Service**

Summary: Sam's not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong… really not himself.

_Thank you very, very much for the reviews. They have brought on another chapter in quick succession._

Chapter Two

* * *

Dean remained where he was, sitting on his own bed, transfixed at the sight of blue eyes staring at him from Sam's familiar face.

Sam had been almost completely silent on the trip back from the cave. He'd offered a bare 'Everything just went hazy and then I woke up on the ground,' then promptly fallen asleep. Dean had managed to wake him up long enough to get him into the motel. Sam had gone straight to the bed and been out cold again seconds later. Dean had worriedly watched over him, not quite reassured by Sam's untroubled sleep, until he too had succumbed to the need to rest.

"Sam?" Dean said tentatively.

"Have to save her." Sam's voice was higher than normal, strained, and he sounded out of breath.

"Save who?"

Sam's pale blue eyes were unfocused as they moved around the room, resting on nothing in particular. "Have to save her," he said again.

Sam stood abruptly and was already halfway to the door before Dean intercepted him. "Save who?" Dean repeated, setting a hand against Sam's chest to keep him back.

Sam barely paused. He grabbed Dean's wrist and twisted viciously, forcing Dean to turn aside or let him break his wrist. Abruptly Sam let go and stepped past him, already heading for the door again. Ignoring all attempts at finesse, Dean threw himself back in front of his brother to block the way with his body. He didn't, however, make the mistake of touching Sam again.

"Tell me who's in trouble and I'll help you," Dean offered, carefully flexing his wrist to check it. Sam had a grip like a lumberjack.

"Have to hurry," Sam said distantly. He moved forward trying to elbow Dean out of the way. Dean refused to budge, however, and ended up backed against the door.

"Look, I can help you, just tell…"

Sam reared back and punched him, putting his full weight behind the blow.

"Holy crap, Sam!" Dean put a hand to his face, his vision gone. Falling forward he grabbed onto Sam who was still trying to get him out of the doorway. Sam was so freaking tall, he had to work to get him in a headlock, but fear and desperation were great motivators. Sam jabbed him in the ribs nearly forcing him to let go, but Dean held on for dear life.

Just as Dean's vision started to return, he knew that Sam's was failing. Still keeping his arm tight around his brother's neck, he followed Sam down as his legs gave out. Dean carefully maintained pressure on the sides of Sam's neck. Constrict the blood flow through the nice big arteries running up a person's neck and you could knock them out in almost no time flat.

Finally, Sam's flailing attempts to free himself abated and he sagged to the floor. Dean released him, stumbled toward the nearest lamp and unplugged it. Quickly returning, he used the cord to tie Sam's hands behind his back. Sparing a second to check that Sam's pulse was still nice and strong, Dean then stepped over his unconscious brother and slid to the ground, leaning his back against the door.

After a few minutes with nothing to listen to but his own ragged breathing, Dean heard Sam groan and watched carefully as his brother opened his eyes. For just a second he could have sworn they were almost silver. Then Sam blinked and they were once again Sam's own warm brown.

Dean let out the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He brought a shaking hand up to his face and was surprised at the tacky feeling of blood. His nose. And now that he thought of it, his head was killing him. Sam's punch had hit the trifecta of his eye, cheekbone and nose. He'd have been proud if it had been on anyone but himself.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why am I tied up?"

"Cause you were watching The Psychic Network."

"Huh?" Sam groaned again and worked his way into a sitting position, leaning against the end of the bed. "Holy… What happened to your face, Dean?"

"I tried to change the channel and we got in a fight over the remote."

"_I_ did that?"

Dean sighed. "Don't remember anything, huh?"

Sam shook his head and he got that scrunched up I'm-trying-to-pass-a-stone look he wore when he was feeling guilty.

Dean almost laughed, but it didn't quite make it past the thought stage. "You kept saying 'have to save her'. You tried to get out the door and when I wouldn't let you leave we had a… difference of opinion."

"I punched you," Sam said.

"That too." Dean gingerly felt his nose. He didn't think it was broken, thank goodness. He didn't like wearing his scars where other people could see them.

"Untie me and I'll get you some ice," Sam said.

"You gonna hit me again?"

Sam paused, watching him uncomfortably. "Not planning on it."

Dean grunted as he stood, annoyed as a few errant spots appeared in his vision. He ordered them away and walked around Sam. He half-unwound the lamp cord and backed up a few steps. He didn't want to be within grabbing distance just in case Sam wasn't as un-possessed as he seemed.

Sam worked his hands the rest of the way free and got to his feet, using the bed to steady himself. He stayed where he was for several seconds, probably waiting for the world to stop spinning. "Sit down, Dean," he ordered then headed toward the sink.

Dean sat and gratefully accepted the damp cloth Sam brought him. He used it to clean up his face and then gingerly examined the beginnings of what was going to be a beauty of a shiner.

"You ok?" Sam asked quietly.

"I'll make it. You?" Dean asked in return.

"Headache." Sam felt his neck as if it were sore. "You knock me out?"

"Shoulda seen it," Dean half-grinned. "You were flinging yourself around so much, I had to latch on like a spider monkey."

"Sorry I missed it," Sam replied, not quite able to share the smile.

"Do you remember the drive back from the cave?" Dean asked more seriously.

"Sort of." Sam sank down into one of the chairs. "It's kind of hazy."

"And you don't remember anything from the cave itself."

Sam shook his head. "I was looking at where the wall gave way and then everything went hazy."

"Lots of hazy going around," Dean grumbled. "You wanna show me that picture of the guy who died in the cave-in one more time?"

"Why?"

"Humor me," Dean answered. "I wanna see the guy who just clocked me."

"Dean, I…"

"S'ok." Dean gave him a chagrinned smile. "Just our semi-annual, _Sam Gets Possessed Weekend Jamboree_."

Sam let out a slow breath. Instead of heading for the computer, he walked toward the sink again. Dean heard him dumping ice out of the bucket and accepted the washcloth filled with ice Sam brought back with him. Dean set it against his cheek as Sam continued past him. He opened the laptop and worked for a few seconds then turned it around so Dean could see the screen.

"Blue-eyed devil," Dean said. The man was about thirty years old, blond and blue-eyed. He'd been on the same tour they'd been taking when he'd been crushed during a sudden cave-in.

"What?"

"When you woke up you had blue eyes," he said. "Tusks might have been less freaky. Or boobs…"

"Nice, Dean. Classy… Kick a guy when he's down."

Dean shrugged. "Or possessed."

Sam blinked deliberately and Dean could tell he was wishing he had a mirror. "Blue, huh?"

"Yup."

"Brian Conrad…" Sam started scanning the article that they'd both already read several times. "He was killed when the wall collapsed. Witnesses said he pushed his wife, Carrie, out of the way at the last second, saving her, but dying himself." He looked up. "I kept saying 'Have to save her'?"

Dean nodded. "And hurry. You said you had to hurry."

"So the ghost is fixated on trying to save his wife. Why are the other people dead?" Sam asked. "Wanting to save your wife doesn't really equal randomly killing other people who walk past that spot in the cave."

"Maybe he thought they were in the way?" Dean pointed to his rapidly appearing bruises. "You… _he_ didn't like it when I tried to keep you in the room."

"Maybe," Sam said, but Dean could tell he wasn't satisfied with the explanation. All of the deaths had looked like medical problems. The victims had been spread out over six months, starting after the cave-in. Each victim had been male, dark haired and roughly 35 years old. Not exactly a hard thing to find at a tourist trap like the cave.

"You sure you don't remember anything?" Dean asked. He narrowed his eyes and was immediately sorry when half of his face protested. Sam didn't answer, just turned the laptop back, staring at the picture. Dean looked closer and saw that his eyes weren't actually focused on the screen. "Sam!"

Sam's head snapped up, his focus sharpening. "Huh? Oh… no. Don't remember anything." He looked again at the article. "We should go see this guy's wife. See if she can tell us what really happened the day of the cave-in. Maybe there's something that the papers don't know about."

"You sure that's a good idea there, Blue Eyes?" Dean asked worriedly.

"We need to talk to her," Sam said, his voice trailing off.

"Hey, Brian?"

Sam looked up at him expectantly. "Yeah?"

They were Sam's eyes, but Dean wasn't remotely reassured. As a matter of fact, he really wished he'd thought to grab Marigold. As he was well aware, a salt blast from the shotgun wouldn't kill his brother, and Dean suddenly had the idea Sam might have a date with some rock salt very shortly. "We still can't figure out where he's buried?"

For just a moment Sam looked confused, then he shook his head as if to chase the cobwebs away. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and clamped his eyes shut.

"You with me?" Dean asked.

"Head hurts," Sam said, through clenched teeth.

"Right," Dean said, looking at his watch and coming to a decision. He put a hand under Sam's arm and urged him to his feet. "We don't know where the dude's buried. So we go talk to the wife, find out what happened. Maybe she'll tell us where to find the body."

Sam stumbled as he stood, but quickly righted himself with Dean's help. "Have to save her."

"Sammy?" Dean's first instinct was to grab Sam's shoulder to try and remind him who and where he was, but his brother's earlier attempt to break his wrist was a definite deterrent. Instead he settled for snapping his fingers. "You in there?"

"Have to _talk_ to her," Sam said more forcefully. "She might know something."

"Right," Dean frowned.

Sam squared his shoulders and headed for the door.

"Dude, you might want to wear your shoes," Dean suggested.

Sam actually stopped and looked down at his feet as if just realizing they were still attached to his legs.

"I don't think she'll like the blood stains either. Sends the wrong message somehow…"

Sam nodded mechanically and went to rummage for clothes. Dean did the same, stopping to grab the weapons bag and set it on the bed. He'd keep it closer at hand than the trunk. Going to the wife's house… He was pretty sure Sam and Brian had just got what they'd wanted all along. But since Dean didn't feel like repeating his spider monkey move, he was going to have to go along with it. For now.

* * *

_More tomorrow. We're off to see the widow... _


	3. Chapter 3

**Pressed Into Service**

Summary: Sam's not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong… really not himself.

_A few answers for you here… Not all of them, but a few._

Chapter Three

* * *

"Can I help you?" A young woman stood in the open door of the upscale suburban home. She was average-looking with dark shoulder-length hair, dressed in the typical American uniform of jeans and print shirt. 

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, giving her a low-watt version of his smile. Sam hadn't said a word on the drive from the motel and the longer he went without speaking the more worried Dean got. He and Sam were both in their suits which only added to the level of discomfort. "We're attorneys with Boston and Scholz. Our client has asked us to look into the death of a family member at the cave this summer. We were hoping you would have a few minutes to talk to us?"

"You're lawyers?" the woman asked skeptically.

Dean just nodded and kept smiling. He knew he didn't come across like a lawyer, suit or not. Still, look confident and most people were too chicken to call you on it. That and, even acting as weird as he was, Sam looked trustworthy and just more professional somehow. Dean had no qualms about riding Sam's decent, respectable seeming coattails.

"What happened to your face?"

"What do you mean?" Dean replied innocently. It was a useful technique. It put the responsibility on the person who'd asked the question and implied that they'd made a mistake, all at the same time. It was kind of like asking a woman when she was due and having her tell you she had the baby two months ago. Thankfully it was early and his face wouldn't look really awful until tomorrow.

"I… nothing," she said uncomfortably. "What is it you need?"

"We just want to make sure that the cave is safe, Mrs. Conrad. That is our client's primary concern."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "My husband died when the cave wall collapsed. I thought that-"

"Is there somewhere we can talk?" Dean pressed.

She hesitated for another second and then finally stepped back, allowing them into the house. Dean looked at Sam and saw that he was nearly mesmerized, staring at the woman. Despite every instinct telling Dean this was a bad idea, the lady was their only real lead. He surreptitiously put a hand beneath Sam's elbow and urged him forward.

Mrs. Conrad led them into the living room and gestured toward the sofa. Dean parked Sam on the couch and then waited for the woman to sit before he took his own seat.

"Is your friend all right?" she asked, eyeing Sam.

"I'm fine, thanks," Sam answered, still staring at her as if spellbound. Ok, Dean thought. Weird, but passable. At least Sam had found his voice.

Dean cleared his throat. "Can you tell us what happened that day in the cave?"

The woman looked back and forth between the two of them. She nervously fiddled with a ring she was wearing, twisting it around her finger. It was a large diamond and Dean supposed it must have been her engagement ring.

"There's really not much to tell, Mr…" she trailed off.

"Call me Tom," Dean said. "This is Barry."

She frowned. "Right. Look, Brian and I… Well… we hadn't been getting along." She looked back down at the ring again, still twisting it around her finger.

"So you thought a cave tour would help?" Dean asked incredulously, then coughed knowing his tone had been a little too amused.

"We took the tour when we were on our honeymoon," Mrs. Conrad replied, then smiled at the look on Dean's face. "Yeah, I thought it was a dumb idea then too. Nothing says romance like cave mold."

Dean knew better than to say anything, but Sam was sitting very straight and he looked incensed. "I'm sure it was educational," Sam said and Dean didn't like the almost confrontational glint in his brother's eyes.

The woman actually snorted. "I'm sure that's exactly what Brian thought. Educational…" She shook her head. "Well, it certainly was. The first time it taught me that I'd married a very _special_ man. The second time it taught me never to go into a cave again. Guano, fungus and dead husbands," she said bitterly. "Can't imagine why everyone doesn't go caving."

Dean decided it was time for a lawyerly redirect. "Mrs. Conrad, if you could just tell us what happened?"

"Sorry," she sighed. "We were on the tour. We walked into this place where the cave widened. All of a sudden, I heard this sort of… rumbling, I guess. I heard Brian shout my name. Then someone pushed me real hard. I ended up on my face and everyone was yelling. It was like a stampede, people trying to get out of the way. I was lucky I didn't get trampled. He'd pushed me out of the way. Brian got caught when the cave wall crumbled though."

"I… _He_ saved your life?" Sam said.

Dean looked over at him abruptly and saw that Sam's eyes had started to bleed toward blue. Dean grabbed his brother's arm and dug his fingers in until Sam gasped and looked at him, eyes clearing again, a freaky sight in and of itself.

"Yeah," Mrs. Conrad said, too caught up in her own memories to notice the odd exchange between them. "The big jerk."

Sam's head snapped back toward her. "I beg your pardon?" he asked, his tone bordering on belligerent.

"We'd been on that stupid tour for an hour and I'd just decided that I'd had it. I was going to ask Brian for a divorce. I couldn't stand being married to him for one more minute and then the big jerk goes and gets himself killed saving me."

"You were going to ask for a divorce?" Sam bit out. Dean dug his fingers into Sam's arm again, trying to keep his brother grounded in the here and now and more importantly keep Sam's co-pilot from completely taking over.

"Talk about guilt, huh?" she said sheepishly. "Hard to hate the guy when he died for you." Mrs. Conrad grimaced. "Is it awful that I'm still mad at him for being a crappy husband?"

"I'm sure everyone in your situation would have… mixed feelings," Dean said, deciding that was a safe middle ground statement. If he started thinking about being pissed at a guy who'd died for him, he'd have a breakdown in about two minutes flat. Now was not the time. Sam first. Breakdown later.

"Crappy husband?" Sam shook Dean's hand off and stood up. Dean did the same, knowing without looking that Sam's eyes were blue. They were so screwed.

"Look," she stood as well, eyeing both of them again apprehensively, "I'm not sure what's really going on here, but I think it's time you left. I can't tell you anything else anyway."

Sam reached out as if he would take her arm. "But, Carrie…"

The woman backed away sharply at the sound of her name. "Who are you two? Do I know you?"

"No," Dean said with certainty, casually trying to push Sam toward the front door. "I'm sorry we bothered you." _Really_ sorry. Sam was starting to push back and Dean was afraid this was going to devolve into another wrestling match. "Mrs. Conrad, just one last thing."

"Yes?" she asked warily.

"Could you tell us where your husband is buried? We thought we might pay our respects." Dean tried to look sincere, which frankly never worked very well. He needed Sam for this, but Sam was currently incommunicado.

Mrs. Conrad looked so immediately taken aback that Dean stopped struggling with Sam who stepped up beside him and they both stood waiting.

"What did you do?" Sam asked suspiciously.

"Nothing that's any business of yours," she answered almost defensively.

"What did you _do_, Carrie?" Sam snapped.

"I… I was angry," she said.

"And?" Sam demanded, taking a step toward her. His fists were clenched, his body language threatening and nothing like Sam's and Dean stepped up beside him, bracing himself in case this went wrong. Well, _more_ wrong.

"The lawyer was reading the will and Brian had set out all of these stipulations. There were all of these stupid instructions for this and that; what he wanted done with every little bit of money we had and he'd never even consulted me about any of it! It was like everything else. He just ordered me around. Told me how it should be and expected me to follow along."

Sam opened his mouth, but Dean stopped him. "What does that have to do with where Brian's buried?"

"There was a special amount of money earmarked in the will for when he died," she said.

"For?"

"He told me to buy him a nice stone."

"And?" Dean suddenly wished he'd never asked when an almost wicked grin appeared on her face.

"I saw an advertisement in a magazine one time for a service where they take your ashes and make them into a diamond." Mrs. Conrad held out her hand so that they could both see the ring she was wearing, the one with the big diamond Dean had noticed earlier.

"You…" Dean blinked, staring at the ring.

The woman laughed humorlessly. "I bought Brian a stone. Pretty, don't you think?"

* * *

_I will do my best to get the next chapter up tomorrow, but no promises. Miles to go before I sleep._


	4. Chapter 4

**Pressed Into Service**

Summary: Sam's not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong… really not himself.

_For those of you who were curious, the diamond thing is absolutely real. Icky, but real…_

Chapter Four

* * *

Dean stared at the ring in both horror and fascination. Mrs. Conrad had had her husband's ashes made into a diamond. She was _wearing_ him. That was wrong on so many levels. 

Sam advanced on her and whatever she saw in his face made the woman back up a pace. She was standing on the other side of the coffee table and as Sam rounded it, she moved to keep the piece of furniture between them. Sam kept after her like a shark circling its prey.

"I saved you," Sam growled. "I _saved_ you."

"What are you talking about?" she said, her voice rising in panic, still keeping the table between them. She held her hands out trying to ward him off, but the diamond flashing on her finger only seemed to enrage Sam further.

"I pushed you out of the way. I _died_ for you, you ungrateful b-"

"Brian, stop," Dean ordered as he placed himself between Sam and his quarry.

"Brian?" Mrs. Conrad said. "I thought you said his name was Barry."

Dean ignored her. "You can't hurt her, Brian. You died for her. You _saved_ her. Are you going to ruin that now?" Dean knew a little bit about self-sacrifice. The fact that Sam was trying so hard to save him from the deal was a tangible reminder of why Dean had made it in the first place. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if Sam had just blown off the deal and moved on. Still, kind of ruins the gesture if you smack the person around after you save them. "You can't make what you did worth nothing. You're just trying to keep your family together, right? This. Isn't. Helping."

Sam looked down at him with those unnerving bright blue eyes. He just stared, wheels visibly turning.

"Brian?" The woman had backed away from them, standing against the far wall. "This _nutjob_ thinks he's my husband?"

Sam's eyes snapped up, looking at her, a mask of fury replacing the thoughtful expression.

"Carrie, I'll pay you to shut up," Dean said. "You're not helping either."

"Look, Mister," she said, her voice shaking. "I don't know what you think you're up to, but I want you out of my house. My husband is dead and I for one want him to stay that way."

Dean actually turned and looked at her in exasperation. "What did I just say?"

"You never listened to anything I said," Sam ground out through clenched teeth. "_Never_."

Dean turned back around and put a hand against Sam's chest just as his brother started forward. He immediately had to lean into him. Sam was just bigger than he was and given the chance the overgrown gorilla would simply overpower him.

He was so busy trying to keep Sam back, Dean wasn't prepared to defend himself when Sam lashed out. Brian might not know how to fight, but Sam did and Sam remembered _exactly_ the place where he'd caught Dean's ribs during their first fight. The air left Dean's lungs in a whoosh, his ribs on fire as he crumpled to the ground.

Carrie screamed as Dean collapsed and Sam stepped over his fallen form. Desperately, Dean grabbed for Sam's ankle and held on for all he was worth. Sam tried to shake him off, but Dean held his brother's heel with one hand, the tip of his shoe with the other and twisted sharply. Dean kept twisting until Sam had no other choice but to fall to the ground or ruin his ankle, knee too if he was unlucky.

Just as Sam stumbled, Dean finally managed to drag a lungful of air into his still burning chest. "Your ring!"

The woman looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Your ring is keeping him here," Dean managed to cough, still holding Sam's foot to keep him from going for Carrie. "Get a hammer or something!"

Sam furiously flipped over onto his back and using his free leg kicked Dean's shoulder. Dean cried out at the sudden pain radiating from his collarbone and released Sam who was on his feet in seconds and advancing on Carrie.

"Get away from me!" Carrie said. Sam was blocking her exit now and she was being forced to back into the room to keep any space between them. "Don't touch me!"

"I've heard that one before, Honeypot," Sam snarled.

"Honeyp…" Carrie was now looking at him wide-eyed. "Wh- What did you call me?"

"I wasted my life. I gave it away for nothing!"

Sam lunged for her and Dean leapt simultaneously on an intercept course. He came at Sam from the side and knocked him to the floor, face first. Dean quickly jammed a knee into Sam's back using his full weight to keep him down.

Breathing heavily Dean looked up to see Carrie staring at him in horror. "Lady, which part of get a friggin' hammer didn't you understand?"

"What?"

"A hammer. Go get one." Dean pointed toward the door for emphasis and Carrie finally seemed to appreciate the need for speed and ran.

Sam was fighting fiercely to unseat Dean. Sam and his freaking upper body strength, he was almost doing a pushup with Dean still kneeing him in the back. Sam raised himself off the floor and then intentionally fell flat, knocking Dean off balance and in that bare second Sam managed to flip over. Using his orangutan-long arms, he grabbed a decorative tray off the coffee table and brought it back catching Dean on the side of the head.

That did it. Dean was finally angry. Generally, anger didn't help in a fight. It gave you tunnel vision or it made you sloppy. It got in the way of seeing all the options. But at that moment, Dean saw with unerring clarity. He grabbed one of Sam hands, twisted until Sam had to flip over again and then held onto the hand, locked with the thumb pointing down, relatively speaking. As long as he held on, Sam wouldn't be able to do any real damage.

Dean's head swimming from the blow to the side of the head, he very inelegantly sat on Sam. He kept himself there and held Sam's hand twisted back, knowing that if he let go, he might not get another chance for this to end well.

Finally, Carrie ran back in looking a little like a hammer-wielding psycho. "I found it!"

"Your ring! Break the stone!" Dean ordered. "Smash it with the hammer!"

"Are you kidding me?"

"Lady, I've got my ass planted on my brother to keep him from strangling you," Dean shouted. "That's about as far from kidding as I can get. Now smash the thing before he kills both of us!"

She hesitated yet again and Dean felt like strangling her himself. "Look, I'll have to get off of him to break it. I don't think you want me to do that!"

"But it's a d-"

"SMASH IT!" Dean barked, fighting to stay seated as Sam continued to try to buck him off.

Finally, the woman took the ring off her finger and set it on the coffee table. Using the hammer, she brought it down on the diamond.

Which did absolutely nothing.

Ok, apparently diamonds _were_ forever; even man-made, pseudo-diamonds made out of freaking _dead_ people. He'd been hoping it wasn't a diamond-diamond, but it seemed carbon was carbon and that annoying truth was about to get him killed.

"What now?" Carrie demanded, watching as Sam once again tried to jolt Dean off.

Ok. Think, Dean. Think. Brian was a diamond. How do you get rid of a diamond? It wasn't like they had a nuclear reactor handy to throw the thing into. And what moron thinks of turning a body into a freakin' diamond anyway? A body… The diamond was a body. So treat it like a body.

"Salt!"

"What?" Carrie asked, now completely bewildered.

"Get some salt and some lighter fluid or gas or something."

"Are you _crazy_?"

"Maybe so, but hurry it up!"

Carrie left at a run, while Dean concentrated on keeping Sam where he was. So they couldn't actually burn the diamond. It wasn't like burning bodies was a technical thing. It was more of a symbolic 'Get out and stay out' thing. At least that's what he hoped. If not, then Sam was going to be spending more time with Brian than either of them wanted.

Carrie came back, her face flushed from running, carrying a salt shaker and a gas can that looked like it had been sitting in the garage for years. "What now?"

"Pour the salt over the ring. Then the gas," Dean ordered, all the while fumbling in his pocket for his lighter. Carrie poured the salt over the ring, making a little mound of it. She opened the gas can and then once again hesitated.

"What's the matter?"

She glanced at Sam as if trying to make a decision. "B-Brian used to call me Honeypot." Dean looked closer and saw that there were actually tears running down her face.

"So?" Sam jerked angrily and Dean was momentarily afraid he would break Sam's wrist, but he ignored the instinct to release him. Not Sam. Brian. Mostly.

"Is… is that really him?" she asked. "Brian, I mean?"

"Yes. Now pour the gas!" Dean barked.

Amazingly enough, she obeyed. He barely waited for Carrie to step back before throwing the lighter on the table and watching most of the tabletop light up.

"I'm sorry, Brian. You deserved better," she whispered.

Almost instantly, Sam's whole body relaxed. Whether it was the salt and burn that did it or the half-baked apology, Dean didn't care. Carrie grabbed a blanket off the sofa and began trying to put out the burning table. The smell of singed varnish and old quilt quickly permeated the room, but Dean didn't complain.

Sam coughed and then tried to move, but Dean was still firmly planted on his back, holding his hand twisted back.

"Sammy?" Dean said, his voice rough.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on the ground again," Sam observed, exhaustion in his voice.

"It was kind of necessary."

"You're sitting on me."

"Also necessary." Dean rolled off Sam so that he was sitting beside him. Breathing heavily despite his protesting ribs, Dean was grateful the smoke had been minimal. "Dude, if I ever give you another gym membership, just shoot me," he said.

"You told me that was against the rules," Sam said, his voice oddly hoarse, almost as if from disuse. "No shooting Dean. That's the rule." He rolled onto his side, grunting with the effort, then looked up. "You're bleeding."

Dean put his hand to his head and hissed. "You hit me with the tray."

"Sorry," Sam said simply.

"Dude, who uses a tray? I mean honestly?"

Sam tried to smile, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best. "Is… is there a reason my ankle hurts?"

"I had to nearly twist it off your body to keep you from strangling Carrie."

Sam bolted upright and frantically looked around. His eyes fell on the woman who was standing in the doorway to the room trying to decide whether she should run or not. "Is she…" He cleared his throat. "Are you ok?"

She shook her head back and forth woodenly. "I… I don't know."

"Are you _physically_ hurt?" Sam asked, deciding it was necessary to be specific. She shook her head again. "Good," Sam said, letting out a slow breath. "Good."

"We're both fine," Dean reassured him. Sam looked like he could use it. His expression said he was only a few minutes away from trying to find a hairshirt. "What's the last thing you remember?" Dean asked.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose trying to concentrate through his apparent headache. "We… were in the cave… and everything went hazy. And then we were in the room. And I gave you some ice for your face…" He trailed off, his expression troubled and uncertain.

"Let me guess," Dean said dryly. "Hazy?"

Sam suddenly went very still, as if he'd heard something Dean hadn't. "Dean," Sam said worriedly, "are my eyes blue?"

He sounded so small and scared, like the long-ago little boy who'd come running to Dean for comfort that Dean's protective hackles rose, instantly wanting to fix whatever it was that was troubling his brother. "No, why?"

"I… I don't… feel right," Sam said.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Carrie asked tentatively, but Dean quickly shushed her.

"What do you mean you don't feel right?" Dean anxiously scanned his brother up and down.

Sam braced both of his hands on the ground, but Dean could see that he was visibly faltering. A second later, Sam was sliding to the floor, all of his muscles relaxing. Dean scooted forward, still on his knees and leaned over him so that he could see his face.

"Sammy?" He smacked him lightly on the cheek, but there was no response. He glanced up nervously at the remains of the mini-pyre on the table. Brian was gone. Dean was sure of it. This was something else. Something new.

Suddenly all of Sam's muscles tightened and he arched off the floor like he was having some sort of seizure. Dean fell back, startled, and nearly cried out when he put weight on his right arm. Sam had definitely cracked his collarbone with that kick.

As suddenly as it had started it was over and Sam was lying limply on the floor. A final tremor passed through his body starting at his head and working its way to his feet.

"Is he ok?" Carrie asked, nervously moving closer.

Dean grunted and sat forward again. He set a hand against Sam's chest and felt the reassuring rise and fall of his brother's continued breathing. "Come on, Sam. Help a guy out here."

As if in answer, Sam took a deep breath and straightened his head that had been tilted away. After another second he opened his eyes and then abruptly sat up, once more forcing Dean to fall back. Sam looked at him quizzically, his head cocked to one side.

But they weren't Sam's eyes. They weren't brown. They weren't blue either. They were a winter gray, cold and bleak. They were the eyes of a killer. Dean knew that look better than most men, but seeing it in Sam's eyes was worse than heartbreaking. It was indecent. It was like having Santa suddenly snarl at you, or having Mother Theresa give you the finger. It just wasn't possible. And yet, Sam kept staring at him, those cold, calculating gray eyes staring at him.

Dean now remembered that bare flash of silver he'd seen in Sam's eyes back at the motel. He cursed his own stupidity and the fate that had caused Sam to be the one the ghosts had latched onto in the cave. Dean relied on Sam's ability to see the bigger picture and not get caught up in the details. Once the situation went south, Sam would have stopped to consider _why_ the cave had collapsed in the first place and not just the man who had died that day. Dean had ignored it because Brian didn't fit the pattern of the later victims.

Two ghosts. One who had issues with his wife and another who was killing tourists. And the killer was looking at him now out of Sam's eyes.

The tray caught Dean on the temple this time. The tray had fallen next to Sam and he used it in a ruthless backhand. Dean was too shocked to even try to guard himself. On what planet was this fair?

Dean's vision was dark, but he heard Carrie scream, then vaguely registered Sam searching him for the keys to the car and pulling them out of his pocket. He heard Sam's departing footsteps and then nothing else.

* * *

_More soon…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Pressed Into Service**

Summary: Sam's not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong… really not himself.

_We'll give the boys a break. They've had a rough day already. And please forgive me for working through some lingering AHBL issues._

Chapter Five

* * *

Dean managed to get off the floor just in time to stop Carrie from calling the police. At least he assumed that's who she was calling. The woman gasped loudly when he snatched the phone out of her hand, though the effect of his take charge manner was ruined when he faltered and had to lean on the kitchen counter to stay upright. 

Carrie began backing away from him and eyeing a second phone on the wall. Dean rolled his eyes and was immediately sorry when the world started to tilt.

"Look," he said, keeping his tone purposely light. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I just let my brother try to bash my head in so that he'd leave you alone."

She just looked at him as she tried to decide what to do. "He did hit you kinda hard," she finally said.

"Yeah, thanks. I didn't know that 'til you told me." Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. His head was killing him and getting annoyed with her wasn't helping.

"Are you all right?" she asked uncertainly.

"Did he say anything?" Dean asked rather than answering.

"What?"

"Tall guy, backhand like a tennis pro. Did he _say_ anything?"

"He took the keys from you and just headed for the door. He didn't say a word."

"I'm gonna kill him," Dean said through clenched teeth. He was going to kill Sam for getting himself possessed again and then he was going to re-kill whoever it was running the show now. Dean made a mental note to see if Bobby could cook up something else along the lines of the other charm he'd given them to keep the ghosts away from Sam. The psychic magnet thing was getting seriously old.

"You're sure he didn't say anything?"

"Not a word. I… I'm not even sure he knew I was here," she explained. "He just got in the car and left."

"Which way did he go?"

"Umm…"

Dean clenched his teeth tightly to keep from screaming at her. Sam was missing and she hadn't even bothered to notice which way he drove off. "Fine. I…" he took another deep breath, steeling himself to move, "I gotta go."

"You're kidding, right?" she asked doubtfully. "You're barely conscious."

"Places to go, possessed brothers to save," he said, annoyed at his own slightly slurred speech. "Just the usual." He stumbled toward the front door, ignoring his pounding head and the blood he could feel trickling down the side of his neck.

"I don't know what this was, but… thank you," he heard her say. "I think."

"Save it," Dean replied. "Just… do me a favor."

"What?"

Dean turned back and gave her the full benefit of his patented smile. "I'm about to steal your car. I'd appreciate it if you could wait ten minutes before you call the cops."

* * *

There were several other cars in the parking lot when Dean pulled in, but the Impala shone like a beacon, letting him know that his guess had been right. Sam had returned to the cave. It was past closing time now and all of the tourists had left. Probably just an employee or two still around, maybe a security guard. The entire area was honeycombed with caves and this wasn't one of the better traveled tours, certainly not one of the more high-tech operations. He'd noted only a few easily avoidable security cameras the first time they were there. 

Dean parked next to the Impala. She seemed unharmed and the keys were still in the ignition. He removed them and hurried to the trunk. He'd already pulled off his tie on the way to the cave. Dean painfully shrugged out of his suit coat and threw it in the trunk. He quickly rolled his cuffs up and then grabbed Marigold, immediately feeling more certain with her in hand. Nothing like your trusty sawed-off shotgun sidekick to make you feel better when your trusty geek-boy sidekick had been possessed and run off on you.

Dean slammed the trunk closed and hurried toward the path that led down to the cave entrance. He hardly paused when he found an unconscious employee near the little ticket booth, slumped against the wall. He appeared to be breathing and relatively unharmed so Dean just kept running down the path, ignoring the jarring effect on his injuries.

Finally, he made it to the entrance to the cave proper. The dim electric lighting was still on and Dean headed straight for the emergency elevator as the fastest means of getting back to the site of the cave-in. The key was in the panel beside the door where Sam must have left it. Dean turned it, recalling the elevator and then pocketed it for the return trip. There was no way he was walking back the long way. Hiking was for people who didn't know how to use the elevator.

The ride down into the bowels of the cave felt like it took four hundred times longer than the ride up had taken. Dean needed his oh-so-smart partner. Marigold wasn't a big talker and he hated not being able to discuss what was going on. Even if neither he nor Sam knew what was happening they could at least discuss how much they didn't know.

Finally, the elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Dean stepped out, Marigold held at the ready. He didn't think Sam was armed, but whoever was in the driver's seat right now had already killed several tourists apparently using nothing more than a pissy attitude. Granted, a ghost's pissy attitude could stop hearts.

As quietly as possible, Dean worked his way toward the large open area where the cave-in had occurred. He tried to hear past the beating of his heart, but there was simply nothing to hear. The cave ahead of him was completely silent. Finally turning the corner, the passageway opened in front of him into the wide cavernous space he wished he could forget.

A man lay flat on his back, his head tilted to one side, apparently unconscious although he didn't appear to be injured. He was wearing one of the uniform shirts all of the employees wore. Dean couldn't fail to notice that he was dark-headed and looked to be about 35, the ghost's victim of choice. He was breathing, though, so it wasn't a lost cause yet.

Sam was sitting on a large boulder near the man, looking down at him, almost like he was studying an interesting bug. Apparently the ghost hadn't listened to the 'no human contact' speech either. Sam's suit coat was missing and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck.

"Sam?"

The lights flickered momentarily as Sam's head snapped up and those ghostly gray eyes met Dean's. "What do you want?"

"Are we talking in the grand scheme of things or more like… dinner plans?"

Those cold eyes narrowed. Apparently the ghost wasn't a big comedy fan.

"What's your name?" When in doubt, ask. It saved time. Especially since Dean had no idea how old this ghost was, who it was or why it was here.

"Abel Camden," he said. "You one of Capt. Barnes' men?"

Military man. Dean was almost grateful. Military men lived by rules. They liked rules. Some of them anyway. It helped. "No, I'm staying down the way a bit," Dean said. He didn't need the ghost catching him in a lie. That never went well. "Came to see what's going on in here."

"I got no argument with you, mister," Sam said, his voice sounding a little more country than his norm, the vowels looser.

"But you've got something against this poor guy?" Dean asked, pointing in the direction of the tour employee.

Sam turned his head back toward his fallen victim. "He ain't poor," he said lowly. "He ain't ever been poor."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"He paid me to go for him." Sam rose and moved toward the unconscious man, standing over him, loathing coming from every pore. He pulled his foot back to kick the guy.

"Why don't you not do that, Abel," Dean said lowly. He kept Marigold steady, letting the ghost know he meant business.

Sam eyed him, assessing him grimly. Whatever he saw in Dean's face convinced him to put his foot back on the ground and take a step back.

"Paid you to go where?" Dean prompted.

"He paid me to fight."

"Fight?"

"He didn't want to be a soldier," Sam said.

Understanding dawned on Dean. Up until the civil war, if a man didn't want to fight or for some reason was unable, he could actually pay someone else to go in his place.

"You got a family, mister?" Abel asked.

Dean nodded, anxiously watching the only family he had left. "A brother."

"I got a wife at home. Two boys."

Dean just waited. The ghost was headed somewhere with this. He just wasn't sure where.

"I left them. For _him_." He spared a glare for the unconscious cave employee.

"He paid you to go in his place," Dean said.

"I had no choice," Sam hissed, turning red with fury. "My family was starving to death. They needed the money!"

"Then you made the right choice," Dean stated confidently. Dean knew all about making a deal with the devil to save your family.

"I'm givin' up years a' my life, years I shoulda had with my boys. I can't get that time back!" Sam's voice vibrated with cold fury. It almost made Dean miss Brian. His fiery anger had been somehow easier to see on Sam's face than this steely murderous expression.

"You made the only choice you could," Dean told him. "You did what you had to do."

The ghost just shook his head, his chest heaving in his efforts to remain in control of his temper. "You know what's worse?"

"What?"

"He paid me to go to join the army for him, but he was really just paying me to die. I'm gonna die for him. I can feel it." Sam's face became bleak, broken. "I'm never gonna see my wife. I'll never see my boys again. This war, it ain't ever gonna end. It keeps goin' on and on, gettin' harder and harder… I got no chance a' makin' it home. I know that."

Judging from the fact that Dean was talking to the ghost of a guy who'd managed to get himself buried in a cave, Dean thought the guy's intuition had been dead on.

"I'll never see my boys grow up. I'll never see the men they'll be, see their kids."

Dean felt his own heart constrict painfully. The ghost was talking, but it was everything that Dean had thought and felt since making the deal. Sam had his whole life ahead of him now and Dean wouldn't see any of it. The demon was gonna come back and kill him and that would be that.

Sam looked back down at the man on the ground. "I'm gonna die for this bastard." He raised a foot and put it on the man's chest, bearing down until the unconscious man groaned. "You believe that? I'm gonna _die_ for him."

"No, you're not," Dean said, embarrassed by the catch in his voice even though his brother wasn't there to hear it.

Sam looked back up at that, startled into putting his foot back on the ground. "What?"

"You're not gonna die for him."

"How do you know?"

"You made the deal to save your family? To save your sons?"

"Yes."

"Then you're not gonna die for him." Dean gestured to the guy on the ground. "No matter what happens, you're not dying for him… or because of him. You're not dying for the bad guy."

"Come again?" The ghost wearing Sam's face looked genuinely confused.

"Your wife, your kids… You're fighting for _them_. Even if you die… You're dying for them. You saved them. You're _saving_ them."

Sam's face crumbled, tears falling from those silvery eyes. Those eyes that had been shining with the urge to kill were gone, leaving only weariness and pain behind. "You really believe that?" he whispered.

Dean believed it with every fiber of his being. He had to. He was looking at his own brother, alive and well, apart from the ghost problem of course. And no matter what deal Dean'd had to make, no matter what he'd done, or what happened next, no matter what the bad guys did or tried or threw at them, no matter what he might suffer, he knew with everything he was that it was all for the man standing in front of him. The real man. He was saving Sam.

"Look, we… _you_… might have been drafted into this fight. But we, _you_," he quickly changed it, "volunteered for it. We volunteered to be drafted." Dean shook his head. "If that makes any sense."

The old soldier didn't seem to be able to respond. He simply nodded, tears still streaming down Sam's haggard face.

"I don't know who you are," Dean said. "But being angry doesn't help." He pointed at the cave employee again. "This guy, jackass or not… This guy helped you save your family." And Dean understood that too. In a sick sort of way he was grateful to the evil thing wearing a woman's face that had made the deal possible. She'd given Sam back to him. "This guy gave you a gift. He helped you save your family when you couldn't. And even if you never see them again… dying for the people you love… I can't think of a more honorable death."

"Honorable," Sam said, as if trying the word out, turning it over in his mind.

Dean kept his expression fiercely in control. "You're a soldier, right?" Sam nodded, his gray eyes locked on Dean. "Then you know that sometimes that's all you can hope for."

"An honorable death." Sam nodded and stepped toward Dean, who forced himself to hold his ground. Finally, Sam held out his hand. Dean hesitated, but shifted Marigold to his other hand and then took Sam's, ignoring the nagging pain in his cracked collarbone. "I'm glad I met you, mister."

"Likewise," Dean said. Except for the possessing his brother, trying to brain him and generally freaking him out part.

It all made sense now, though. The two ghosts. Brian Conrad had just got caught up in it all. Sympathetic ghostdom or something, trying to save his family. It was probably the reason Sam had been caught up in it too. Dean had accepted the terms of his death almost from the moment he'd sealed the deal, but Sam spent every waking moment trying to think of a way to save him.

"I should get goin'," Sam said. "Captain won't like me takin' so long. He'll have my hide."

"Better get going then," Dean agreed, but he held onto Sam's hand.

Sam smiled and Dean watched the gray fade from his eyes until it was only his brother staring back at him.

"Sammy?" Dean squeezed Sam's hand with his and was rewarded with the answering pressure of his brother's grip.

Sam blinked in confusion and Dean saw him sway. When his knees gave out, Dean did his best to break the fall, but Sam was just too huge and Dean was too beat up to do more than let Sam take him down with him. They both ended up on the packed dirt floor of the cave, Sam unconscious and Dean breathing heavily.

"Sam," Dean said, fighting the black spots away from his vision. "We're so taking a vacation to Salt Lake City."

* * *

_The wrap-up tomorrow. Sam hasn't had a chance to say much this story, so he'll have the last word._


	6. Chapter 6

**Pressed Into Service**

Summary: Sam's not himself after a research trip goes horribly wrong… really not himself.

_And here you have it. It's been a pleasure. Thanks for every kind word and lovely review._

Chapter Six

* * *

Sam awoke groggily and squinted against the painfully bright electric lights.

"Head hurt?"

Dean's voice. He couldn't see him, but he could hear him. "Yeah."

"Good," Dean replied and Sam heard definite satisfaction in his tone. "Cause if mine's gonna hurt this bad, then yours better too."

"I'm on the ground again," Sam said, realizing he was lying on what felt like hard packed dirt.

Dean snorted. "Dude, you like dirt so much, I'm starting to think you have a secret desire to farm."

Sam vision was returning and he realized the light wasn't nearly as bright as he'd thought. In fact it was fairly dim. Suddenly the dirt floor made sense. "Why are we back in the cave?"

"Look at me," Dean abruptly ordered.

"What?"

"Sit your ass up and look at me," Dean ordered again, clearly not joking.

Sam worked his way into a sitting position, his head pounding like it might explode. It hurt worse than visions. It felt like his brain was too big for his skull and it was going to start coming out of his nose. On top of that, all of his muscles felt over-used as if he'd had a 12 hour workout and no one had told him about it. Finally he looked at Dean. Ouch. Dean wasn't looking any better than the last time he'd seen him. A lot worse actually.

Dean was studying him and Sam realized he was looking at his eyes. They must have been normal because Dean visibly relaxed.

"You feel… weird at all?" Dean asked carefully. "A pending possession I need to know about? I'd appreciate a little more warning this time."

"No," Sam said, taking an internal inventory. "Just me."

"Cause if this ever happens again, those eyes of yours better be pink and it better be the freaking Easter Bunny come to visit. You got me?" Dean nodded for emphasis and then winced. His head didn't seem to be doing him any more favors than Sam's.

"Got it. Fictional figures only," Sam said.

"Fictional figures easily turned into stew," Dean corrected.

"What happened, Dean?" Sam asked worriedly. Dean had a new wound that had bled down his neck onto his shirt and he looked a lot like he did after a back alley fight. So a little more disheveled and disreputable than normal. Sam remembered the motel and helping Dean after he punched him. Then he remembered a few vague seconds at some house with a woman he'd apparently tried to hurt and then… nothing else.

"The cave was running a two for one sale," Dean sighed. "Did I mention how much I don't like this place?"

"A second ghost?" Sam said, ignoring the rest.

"Yup. The ghost behind door number two was the one killing the tourists. A soldier. Had a bone to pick with the guy who sent him off to war. My guess is that he woke up when the cave wall crumbled. They'll probably find some old remains if they look."

"The tour guide said they used these caves during the war," Sam said.

"She did?" Dean looked up, surprised.

"You weren't paying attention to a thing the woman said, were you?" Sam chided.

Dean looked down again, slightly abashed. "After she told us to protect the cave mold, I sorta tuned her out."

"Meaning you were ignoring her and counting on me to remember the boring crap you didn't want to bother with."

Dean shrugged. Only one shoulder, Sam noticed. "Why mess with a perfect system?"

"How's that system working out for you?" He gestured toward Dean's swollen cheek and eye.

His brother scowled. "Got rid of the other ghost, didn't I?"

"How'd you manage that by the way?"

Dean cocked his head to one side, a grin appearing. "Your Ghost Whisperer title might be in jeopardy."

"You talked it to death, didn't you?"

Dean's grin widened into a satisfied smile. "Maybe. We… came to an understanding."

"Two old soldiers working it out, huh?" He frowned when Dean's smile wavered. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly. He braced himself and got to his feet. Sam noted he only used one arm. Wanting to see if his guess was right, Sam held out his left hand for Dean to help him up. Dean hesitated for only a second and then held out his own left hand. "Other one, Sammy."

Sam changed hands and stood with Dean's assistance. Ribs were hurt, too, Sam saw, though Dean was doing his best to hide it. Sam yelped involuntarily when he put weight on his ankle and only then remembered Dean mentioning something about having to take him down at the house.

"Can you walk?" Dean asked, and Sam could see the real concern underneath. Dean was watching him like a hawk, but was clearly in his 'Let's be macho, pretend it's all good, and not discuss anything uncomfortable' mode.

"I think so. What happened to your shoulder?"

"Ghost whispering has its limitations."

Sam felt shame flare again, knowing he had, however unwittingly, been the one to hurt his brother. "Dean, I…"

Dean held up a hand stopping him. "Sam, you look like your 'roids are acting up. Relax, man. Not your fault." He sighed. "Come on. The tour guide's gonna wake up before too long."

"You think he's ok?" Sam asked worriedly. To answer his question, the man groaned and brought a hand up to rub over his face.

"Probably in better shape than us," Dean answered. "Now, I've had the crap beat out of me and you've been mostly possessed all day. Can we go already?"

* * *

Dean felt dirty.

He was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. He hadn't bothered to pull back the comforter and was sorry about that now. The adrenaline was wearing off and he was getting cold. The blood on his neck had dried now at least. It would be a pain to get off, but the sticky feeling had passed. His dress shirt was ruined though.

Dean had let Sam head to the shower first. It would help him more. Sam had been quiet on the ride back to the motel. After Meg had used Sam so badly, Dean didn't imagine this little possession was going to sit any better. He made a mental note not to get too pissed off when Sam started asking questions. That time lost would bother Sam until he managed to get every little bit of information out of Dean he could.

Sam came out of the bathroom wearing shorts and a t-shirt. His hair was still damp and he used a towel on it ruthlessly, almost angrily.

"Careful there, Sam. You might be bald one of these years. You'll be sorry for being mean to it while you had it," Dean said roughly.

Sam's hand stopped mid-motion and he turned to look at Dean. "You're worried about my hair when you can hardly move?"

"I'm saying be nice to it, Sam. Hair isn't necessarily a renewable resource."

Sam threw the towel back toward the sink, frowning. "Neither are you, Dean."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Dean grumbled. With the deal's deadline moving closer and closer he could hardly deny it.

Sam limped over and sat down on his own bed. "Dean, I didn't mean that. The deal… We're gonna fix that. I… I just wanna… You can't be so reckless, man. You're living like…"

"Like I'm gonna die anyway?" Dean asked lightly. Sam looked like he'd been sucker-punched and Dean was instantly sorry. His brother didn't deal well with the death jokes anymore. Time for an olive branch. "Tell you what," Dean said. "You quit getting possessed, I'll quit letting you beat me up."

"Sure thing." Sam did his best to laugh, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Just… Thanks. For today. For not letting me do anything… too bad."

Dean could see the burden of the last time, when Meg had been controlling Sam, wrap itself around his brother, weighing him down yet again. He hadn't been able to stop it then anymore than he'd been able to change what had happened today, but that didn't stop him from feeling guilty. Dean saw that Sam was looking down at his bruised knuckles and wished that he could erase the tiny reminders of what had happened.

"S'ok," Dean said simply.

"At least I didn't shoot you again," Sam said.

Dean laughed and did his best to hide that the movement had jostled his ribs. "Where does a decorative tray rate on the points scale? Below a shooting, but above general taunting, I guess."

Sam smiled and Dean was glad to see it. If Sam was smiling, then it was going to be ok. Sooner than some of the disasters they'd been through.

Unbidden, thoughts of the man in the cave began to float through Dean's mind. Just another guy pulled into a war because he didn't have a choice. He had to save his family. Lot of that going around these days.

Dean knew that he'd told the man the truth. He wouldn't be dying because of a demon or because some bad guy had managed to get lucky. He'd made the deal knowing full well what he was doing. He was saving Sam.

It wasn't that Dean thought he was worthless. He had a place in the world, a useful profession. It wasn't that Dean didn't really like himself. He liked himself a lot better than pretty much every one else. He certainly wasn't looking forward to what was coming. Pain was bad. It was one of the first things this life had taught him. And he'd spent too many years trying to alleviate other people's suffering, had already known too much of it himself, to think his future was going to be anything short of unbearable.

But then he thought of Sam, so silent and still, his body already starting to decay as it rested on that filthy mattress. When it came down to it, what kind of selfish bastard looked at someone he loved and said his own life was more important than theirs? Not this one.

* * *

Sam felt dirty.

He sat on the bed watching Dean drift off to sleep, still battered and bloody. Sam couldn't actually remember hurting his brother, but the effects were obvious. Dean had stopped him from hurting someone else. Again. And he'd stopped him by stepping firmly between Sam and the people he was trying to hurt.

Sam had been used. Pulled into someone else's fight and _used_. Violated. He was accustomed to never having anything, never owning anything. He was accustomed to fighting someone else's fight. But ever since Meg… And now being used like that again… He almost felt like he didn't even own himself. Looking at his bruised knuckles, wounds he didn't even remember getting…

"Hey, Sam?" Dean grunted.

"Yeah."

"Could you turn the volume down? Your brain's too loud."

"You'd think if it was so loud you'd pay better attention," Sam countered.

Dean smiled and Sam was glad to see it. If Dean was smiling, then it was going to be ok. Sooner than some of the disasters they'd been through.

"Dean… Did I miss anything in the cave?" Sam asked. He had the feeling he'd missed something important, something that maybe he needed to hear.

Dean sighed loudly. "Just the usual. You, me, ghost. General mayhem ensuing…"

"Ensuing?"

"To Ensue. Follow. Arise." Dean raised an eyebrow. "It's a perfectly good word."

"I didn't say it wasn't," Sam said, hiding a grin, though he had his answer and knew he'd missed something while they were in the cave.

"So ghost. Mayhem. Then you decided we had the money for a dry cleaning bill and got your suit muddy, mine too." Dean cast him a disapproving look, made sure Sam was aware of the reprimand, then shut his eyes again.

"How'd you get the ghost to leave, Dean?" Sam asked, refusing to let Dean sidetrack him.

"I told him about your daily grooming rituals and the poor guy decided The Light was a safer bet," Dean quipped, ruining it however by yawning.

"Who has to get their hair cut practically every week to keep it that short?" Sam countered. "Last week, you spent more time looking for a barber than taking out the poltergeist."

"At least I don't have to go a beautician," Dean murmured, already half-asleep.

He was clearly exhausted and Sam didn't have the heart to keep him awake. Truth be told, he was hardly awake himself. He pulled the covers back on his own bed and slid beneath them. Sam gently rested his head on the pillow. It still hurt like it was going to explode but the pain was slowly receding as was the ache in his overtaxed muscles. He closed his eyes and there it was… Everything that had happened that day. Brian, Carrie, the diamond, the fight with Dean, stealing the Impala, the soldier, Dean convincing him who he was really fighting for. The solemn, earnest look on Dean's face…

"Dean?"

"Later, Sammy." He yawned again. "Tell you later." Dean's mouth quirked up on one side. "It's all a bit… hazy."

Sam gave a short huff of laughter, then stood, pulled the comforter off his bed and limped toward the other bed to drape it over Dean. His brother didn't even realize it was there, but that was all right. Dean was a shield to everyone around him whether they were aware of it or not. Sam at least knew enough to appreciate it. A blanket to keep the cold away was a small thing to give in return.

Despite his exhaustion, Sam went to the table and opened the laptop. He could do a little research before he turned in. Sam might have inadvertently cost them one of their last days together. Another day lost… Sam focused on the screen, ordering himself to concentrate on the task at hand. If he kept thinking about another day lost he'd have a breakdown in about two minutes flat. Dean first. Breakdown later.

Sam glanced at Dean, then back at the screen and started typing.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!_


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